Food For The Soul
by lilbinch2006
Summary: For most people, the service industry is a survivor of the fittest but for Santana, the industry has become a way of life. After leaving New York to tap into the culinary world in the Nation's Capital, Santana has never felt more alive and has no intentions of letting that change. Can perhaps a certain blonde make her see otherwise? AU Restaurant!Santana.
1. Chapter 1

Food for the Soul: Chapter 1

 **A/N: Hi hello it me. Longstanding reader, first time writer! I've been prowling through all these amazing Brittana stories and I finally got the inspiration to write one. There will be a lot of Spanish speaking in this story (it'll be the italicized quotes) but fret not! I will post translations at the bottom of every chapter. This story is very AU, especially with where the story takes place. I haven't seen a Restaurant!Brittana story so perhaps this does these babes some justice.**

 ** _Glee_ isn't mine but maybe one day.**

* * *

"I've got four _carne a la planchas_ all day! _Uno_ medium, _uno_ medium rare, y _dos_ well done!" the plumpy chef shouted, he then proceed to mutter to himself, " _Osea, esos dos no saben que es carne buena ni si la vaca de donde vino se sentaría en su cara._ " Not that it mattered given that his insult was lost in the commotion occurring behind the kitchen line. On the other side of the kitchen window stood _El Mercado's_ furious general manager.

" _Miguel! Coño, donde esta la paella para la 51?_ "

" _Ya viene! Clamita, Santanita!_ " Miguel says flashing the little Latina's least favorite crooked smile.

Within moments, Santana's signature scowl is wiped away by the placing of beautiful pink shrimp laying on a bed of golden rice. Grabbing the necessary utensils, the manager proceeds to make a beeline towards the couple sitting in silence—both on their phones. With just one glance at the table, Santana knew how her interaction would them would turn out. Clearing her throat—slightly to bring herself to their attention while also to relieve the awkward tension that settle upon the table—Santana flashes the blinding smile that landed her her job in the first place.

"Good evening, I have a two person _paella de mariscos_ for the table." She places the pan in front of the couple along with their spoons and mussel bowl. "Will there be anything else I can get for you guys this evening?"

Looking up, Santana could see Sir Stuffington about to unleash a waterfall of complaints until his girlfriend interjected.

"No thanks, ma'am. We should be just about set. Right, Gerry?" the attractive brunette practically hisses to her date.

He simply nods and begins to dig while the woman sends an apologetic look towards Santana's direction. Leaving word with the couple that their server will be by to check on them, she turns on her heels promptly dismissing herself. Santana basically melts into the nearest service station—seeking only a few moments of undisturbed peace. Of course, in this industry those thoughts are only considered to be wishful thinking. Upon hearing the sound of glasses—there are distinctions between the sound of _one_ glass breaking versus the sounds of _multiple_ glasses breaking—the Latina releases a deep sigh through her plump lips. Checking her watch, she feels her signature scowl spread amongst her face along with the plummeting of her mood.

 _One hour down, six and half more to go…Fuck._

* * *

Sure enough, the following five hours were brutal. Santana was still nursing a head from all the terribly stupid decisions her wait-staff had made that evening. Thankfully, the last hour of the dinner service went smoothly as her closing server, Valentina, had made it her mission to be out of _El Mercado_ as soon as possible. She would never outright admit it but, the sassy waitress was undeniably Santana's favorite. They both shared a wicked sense of humor and had similar experiences with their Latin families growing up. The only difference was that whereas Valentina's family chose to support her, Santana's did not.

"Alright, boss lady. The chairs are up; the PDR has been wiped down three times; and here are two Advil." Looking up from her laptop, Santana reaches over to grab the Advil and immediately spots the mischief in the young girl's black eyes.

"Thanks, Squirt. What would I ever do without you?"

"Hmm, I don't know. I think you may be on trial for several murder charges." she shrugs, letting a confident smirk spread amongst her thin lips.

"Ha. Ha. That was so funny I forgot to laugh. Now scram, kid. I know you have class tomorrow." Santana deadpans before shooing the younger Latina off. "And don't even think about trying that look on me. You know the rules."

Valentina groans, " _aw c'mon, Santanita! Solo erés cuatro años mayor que yo_. My 21st is next summer but you _know_ age is not a problem for me."

" _No,"_ she emphasizes, " _Ya lárgate de aquí. Te veo cuando te veo!_ " she says.

Without looking up from her laptop, she finally hears the younger girl relent. Not looking up, Santana grunts at Valentina's goodbyes and throws herself into her nightly manager journal. Before she even realizes, Santana is saving her work and filing it for the night. Gathering her belongings, she lets her eyes roam her surroundings. Now that the restaurant was finally settled down, she found herself falling in love with her job all over again—just like she does every night. The cool marble countertop that made up the bar glowed in the dim lighting and was perfectly paired with the wooden paneling all around the restaurant. The glows from the yellow lamps created an inviting atmosphere that was capable of soothing even the hangriest of people.

It's been five years since she stumbled upon the service industry. Five years of being able to give people a sensation that she's always desired but was never given: the warmth of a home. Walking through the hallway that cut through the kitchen, Santana let the lights finally shut off after a long day of work. She walks out the backdoor, locks up for the night, and bids her farewells to the establishment.

"Wow, _estoy impresionada_." Santana's small smile is instantly replaced by sly grin. Hearing a distinct click and inhale, she turns around only to be greeted by the sight of her protégé smoking a cigarette and nursing a beer. " I thought you would've been in there for _at least_ another hour. I'm almost, dare I say it, proud of you."

Hopping the fence that separated the restaurant's back entrance with the patio next door with a practiced ease, the elder Latina practically glides into the chair and swipes the other girl's beer. "Don't pout, You'll give yourself more wrinkles than you already are," she states, while rolling her eyes. "Who is working tonight?"

"Lauren and Sam."

"Brilliant. I'll be back." Rising up, the manager makes her way into the dimly lit bar.

One of the best parts about her job—besides the obvious discount perks—was being apart of the tight knit community that made up the service industry. No matter where Santana would go, she'd always find herself surrounded by friendly faces. These were people who could relate to her and the bullshit that comes with territory. No one would work the typical 9-5 hours; nor would they be stuck behind a stuffy, monochromatic cubicle all day. The downside was that they all worked heinous hours—especially Santana.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Satan herself! To what do we owe this unfortunate pleasure?" asks the imposing woman behind McMaster's bar. Lauren was one bad ass bitch. She ran a tight ship and wasn't afraid of kicking ass—guests and workers alike. She was also one of the first people that Santana met when she first moved to Washington, D.C.

"Got off early, decided to take my frustrations out on y'all as opposed to my incompetent staff," she says shrugging, "I'll take the usual. Well, the new usual given that Holly hasn't gotten off of her lazy ass to fix your draft situation."

"Tell me about it, I'm about to start closing shop earlier if this doesn't change. And we both know how much I love my money," Lauren replies placing a shot of Jameson and a bottle of Stella Artois in front of Santana. "Hopefully it'll get fixed soon. Also, I'm headed out so just close out with Sam."

"Great. Thanks, Lauren. Just put it all on one tab—including Wonder Woman's drinks out there." Santana flashes her a kind smile and grabs the drinks before she makes her way outside.

Valentina was on the phone with whom Santana presumed to be her mother. She reached over and swiped one of her cigarettes all while choosing to ignore the pointed look being thrown in her direction. Lighting the stick, she sits back and allows the sensation of both the nicotine and Jameson to settled within her body. Sitting back, the general manager allows herself to relax for the first time that day. The final weeks of the blistering D.C. summer were finally disappearing paving the way for Santana's favorite season. It was a quiet night in D.C.'s Dupont Circle neighborhood. The only sound that could be heard was the breeze with the occasional car horn—much different than the usual ambulances and shouting homeless folk. It brought about a nice change, for once.

"You know smoking kills, right?" Valentina says with a teasing tone.

Santana snorts before exhaling a cloud of smoke into the Latina's face, "Oh because you're such a saint, Miss 'I'm drinking underage'. Tell me, what would Mother Teresa and Father Alex have to say about if they found out their precious daughter was, dare I say it, a _smoker_." At the mention of the girl's parents, the younger Latina's face instantly falls. Satan decides to have some pity on the poor girl, she was also reeling after a long day. "How are my favorite parents, anyway?"

"They're doing swell, as per usual. My dad finally got the finally parts for his prototype so he's starting his last phase of testing on Monday. My mom is practically pooping her pants about the fact that this project is finally taking off. She also wants to know when you're gonna come visit." Valentina's parents, Alex and Lola, were some of the most interesting people that Santana had ever met. To most people their relationship seems like something from a cheesy Hallmark movie, but they don't give a fuck about other people's opinions. That's part of the reason why Santana loves them so much. The other (of many reasons) for them being Santana's OTP was because they lived in Miami and never failed to extend an invitation to their home.

"Mm, probably when you shape up and stop working for me."

"Oh fuck off. Do you know how much fun we'd have mackin' on all these South Beach babes?!" Valentina begs with her pout out on full display.

Santana releases what felt like her millionth sigh that day and stubs out her cigarette. "Maybe. I'll consider it. When are they coming?"

"I dunno when my dad is coming but Mami should be here sometime within the next few weeks. Our passports are finally ready and you know she can't resist a trip to visit her favorite child." she says wiggling her eyebrows in an all too familiar manner.

"Aw, how sweet. Tell Lola that we can sign the adoption papers anytime." Santana retorts with a giggle.

"I meant me, loser." Valentina deadpans. It was no secret that the topic of Joe, Valentina's older brother, was a sore subject for the girl. Santana had only met her brother once and within moments she got lost in the extent of his doucheness. How those two came from the same parents of the Hernandez clan, Santana would never know. They spent the better part of their evening switching be comfortable conversation and quick puffs off of their cigarettes. Before they knew it, their giggly selves were being herded inside by Sam, the other bartender. Sitting in the vacant bar, Sam went ahead a poured the tipsy women another round of shots.

"Cheers, Trouty Mouth! May you never hire someone with larger lips than yours!" Vanessa slurs, raising the shot glass to her lips.

"Oh Val, you know that you're the only girl who's allowed to kiss these lips." he responds, adding a wink while flashing a what the Latinas guessed to be a charming smile.

"Maybe when you get a lip reduction and then use that excess to tissue to building yourself some boobs with a matching set of nether lips, we can have a chat."

Santana then proceeds to lose her shit. No matter how many conversations she has with the younger girl, Santana will never come out of one without crying of laughter first. The similarities between the two of them became more and more pronounced everyday.

"Ouch that hurts. Satan, are you sure you didn't give birth to this one?" Sam says with a hurt expression on his boyish face.

"No thank you. I'm not sacrificing this hot body for a _pendeja_ like her—or anyone's for that matter. Besides, you should know by now that she's gayer than me."

Sam just grunts in response and presents the ladies their check. Once again, the bill for the plethora of drinks they had had that evening was next to nothing. Like clockwork, Santana pulled out a fifty dollar bill, left it in the checkbook and made her goodbyes. The trip home went a lot faster than she has ever remembered it being and soon enough she was walking through the foyer of her apartment. She was instantly greeted by the sensation of a warm purring ball of fur around her ankles. She picked up her little grey striped cat—Arya by law, Pookie by preference—and threw them bothonto the couch. The cozy living room atmosphere along with the soft purring of her cat had Santana's eyes beginning to droop. There was no point in waiting up for her roommate, he worked more than she did if that was even possible.

"C'mon lil' binch, let's go to bed." Picking up Pookie and settling the two of them on her queen size bed, Santana feels herself start succumbing to her exhaustion.

 _Tomorrow, I'm gonna spend my day off in bed. No exceptions._

With that the Latina feel into a deep slumber, for once not waiting to see what the next day would bring.

* * *

 **A/N: so...what did we think? I promise the stories picks up its pace and we shall see more of your favorite characters pop up.**

 _Osea, esos dos no saben que es carne buena ni si la vaca de donde vino se sentaría en su cara. - **Really, these two wouldn't know what good meat is if the cow that it came from went and sat on their face.**_

 _Miguel! Coño, donde esta la paella para la 51? **\- Miguel! Fuck, where is the paella for 51?**_

 _Ya viene! Clamita, Santanita! - **it's coming! Chill, Santanita.**_

 _Solo erés cuatro años mayor que yo - **you're only four years older than me.**_

 _Ya lárgate de aquí. Te veo cuando te veo! - **get out of here. I'll see you when I see you!**_

 _estoy impresionada- **I'm impressed.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi hello, it me. Sorry for delayed update, life got in the way. There are a lot of character introductions in this chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 2:

If it wasn't her cat's morning meows that stirred the Latina, it was definitely the alluring smell of bacon being cooked in the kitchen. Eventually, Santana gave into both and began her morning ritual of stretching out every single part of her body. One could even say that she was part cat-even if she didn't believe it to be true. Rising from her bed, she proceeds to make her way towards the kitchen; her suspicions confirmed as to who could possibly be cooking so early in the day.

"Morning, honey." Without even looking up from the pan, her roommate handed her a mug of coffee and Santana could only grunt in response. Puck knew better than to anticipate any words coming out of his roommate's mouth before her morning cup of joe.

"Morning, slut. How was work?" Santana asked, perching herself on top of the counter like they did on the mornings that they were both actually home. Studying her roommate, she couldn't help but to acknowledge that Puck cooking breakfast-shirtless-is a sight that even she could admire. Not that she would ever actually admit it.

"It was alright. I don't know if the DC tap water has finally started to affect everyone but it was as if all my servers turned into monkeys last night." Puck had been her best friend since she moved to DC three years ago. He tried hitting on her at a bar and was in return hit with one of Santana's legendary slaps. The rest they say, is history. Ironically, he was now the bar manager at El Mercado's late night competitor, Ibiza.

 _"RIGHT?!_ I swear to God, I had a migraine not even thirty minutes into my shift. " Santana responded, grabbing the plate of eggs and bacon that had been presented to her before following Puck out of the kitchen.

"This fucking bartender, Matt or whatever his name is, made a fucking mojito when he got a ticket asking for a Moscow mule. Now I understand this being a one time mistake, but having it happen THREE times in a row? That's just absurd. He's lucky I didn't fire his ass on the spot." Puck mumbled through a mouthful of food.

"Please, chew your food before speaking. It's unsightly and only furthers my opinion as to how much of a neanderthal you really are." She swallows the last bit of her coffee, having it finally cooled down to a humane temperature, "Are you working again tonight?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm actually set to be leaving within the hour, I just hoped I didn't miss you before I left." Puck said, gently grabbing her hand. For him, his job was just a job; for his roommate, her job was her life. "You look exhausted. Please tell me you have some time off today?"

"I do," Santana grips Puck's calloused hands and flashes him a smile he hasn't seen in a hot minute, " I have the ENTIRE day off today! There is no way in hell I'm going into work today. Nothing. Nada."

"Ha, that's great Satan. Stop by later on tonight then, we can grab some dinner." He got up, placed a quick kiss on her cheek before shouting out his goodbyes. Looking around the surprisingly empty living room, Santana couldn't help but let the sensation of relaxation finally hit her shoulders. As much as she loved being in the restaurant industry, the rare days off she had she preferred to spend them doing nothing as opposed to always having something to do.

She spent the better part of her morning catching up with her Bravo shows and doing some general cleaning. Santana would work an average of six days a week while Puck worked less days but came home a lot later than her. These schedules didn't really give them the opportunity to be home as much as they liked to be. The long standing joke between them was that Arya was actually their landlord and she rented out her closets to the humans.

After a hot shower, Santana let her naked body semi gracefully plop onto her freshly made bed. Following right behind her, her cat pounced on the bed and curled up right next to Santana's foot. She was on the cusp of succumbing to her first of many planned naps when the phone next to her ear began to violently vibrate. Without removing her face from the pillow, she swiped and placed the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

" _Hola, hija. Me tienes abandonado_!" Responded the suave voice of Santana's father, Antonio.

" _Hola, pa. Lo siento, e tenido una semana ridícula_." She sighed, guilt beginning to build up in the pit of her stomach.

" _Lo sé, ese trabajo tuyo es un otro tipo de animal. Te trabajan muy duro._ "

"That's rich coming from Mr. Workaholic himself. How's Mamí?" Santana chuckled to herself. Before she could even hear a response from her dad, her phone began flashing a FaceTime request. _Typical_. She answered the request and where she was previously graced with her father's voice, now she was staring at the mustached face that matched with it along with the sight of her mother.

"Santana Diabla Lopez, when exactly were you planning on coming home?! I'm not getting any younger here, missy." her mother, Maribel interceded.

"Mamí, indoor voices please. I'm enjoying my one day off and I don't need it to be ruined by your howling. I was going to tell you that I can't make it home till Christmas. The restaurant needs me." Santana hated lying to her parents but she couldn't help herself this time. She was going to surprise her family for her mother's 60th birthday this thanksgiving. Her brother, Tony, was the one who helped her plan it all.

"I suppose it'll have to do. Me voy hablamos despues." Her mother's tone became short much like Santana's own. The young Latina couldn't help but to sigh at her mother's upset demeanor. Santana and her dad stayed on the line for a few minutes longer before hanging up. Grunting in frustration, Santana threw herself once again into her pillows.

In a sheer moment of Deja's vu, Santana's phone rang again.

"What?!" She hissed into the receiver, feeling Auntie Snixx coming out to play.

"Santana, I know it's your day off but we have an emergency and we need you. The internet went down and I was in the middle of getting the event confirmation for tomorrow." spoke the collected voice of Mercedes Jones, the diva event planner of El Mercado.

"God dammit...well I'll be there within the hour. While you're at it, call up aloha! and have them come clean up their mess." She sighed before clicking the phone call. She heaved herself up from her bed and in record time, she was sliding into her already waiting cab.

All Santana Lopez wanted today was a day for herself. No such luck with that.

* * *

Not even five minutes after arriving at El Mercado, Santana had managed to revive the Internet and make the Internet technician cry on his way out the door. They didn't call her the Devil of DuPont Circle for just any reason. She was ruthless, calculating, and didn't take shit from anyone, whether they were her employees or not. She walked out from the manager's office, sending her hellos to her kitchen staff, before walking through to the dining room and sliding up into the seat next to Mercedes at the bar.

"Girl, you look like shit."

"Gee thanks, Aretha. Need I remind you that today is my day off and you still have the pleasure of being graced with my presence?" Mercedes simply chuckled and turned back to her laptop. Santana's insult no longer had the effect that once used to have. "So, what's this event we have going on tomorrow night?"

"Ah yes. I'm actually not feeling too concerned about this event. It's for the New York City Ballet, they're in town for the Washington School of Ballet showcase and they have a few days to explore the city before the start of rehearsals." She handed Santana a thick folder that contained all the necessary paperwork for the events. "Pretty standard food package on top of the extra open bar fees."

"Looks good. Send me the contact information and I'll be sure to give her a call later to plan the logistics. You're coming right?" Santana asks her comrade in arms.

"Nope, it's gonna be Sugar and whoever is on staff tomorrow." Santana let out a groan and let her head drop onto the bar countertop, Mercedes actually felt bad this time around. "Sorry babe, I have to be at BET tomorrow and she's my assistant for a reason."

It was no secret that Santana hated Sugar. Like really really hated her. If it wasn't for the fact that Sugar's dad had one of the most impressive client lists for people in Washington DC, Santana would've fired her on the spot. However, the people at corporate put their foot down on her employment being a permanent one.

"It's fine. I should've known better either way."

"What should you have known better?" Santana turned to the newest addition to her conversation with Mercedes and raised an eyebrow at the suspect.

"The conversation is between A and B. C your way out of it, punk." Santana hissed at the obscenely dressed sight of Sugar Motta, "Also, Donald Trump called and he demands that you return his wig."

"He has done no such thing! Besides we all know if I needed something from the Trump Family, I'd go through Tiffany, not her sad sack excuse of a father." Sugar exclaimed with mock shock. Santana goes to open her mouth, comeback at the ready but her opportunity disappears before her own eyes when she hears a small oomph come out of the millionaire.

" _AZUCAARRRRRR_! Where have you been all my life?" Valentina releases Sugar from her Python like embrace, allowing the color to return to Sugar's face. Santana can't help but to release a chuckle at her underage friend.

"Hi honey, I've missed you too!" Sugar begins to stifle through her Trump hair purse until she pulls out a wad of fifty dollar bills and plops them in Valentina's hands. "This is for the last time, and a down payment for the next time."

Valentina waggles her eyebrows in response, forgetting altogether that her boss was sitting a mere amount of feet away from her. Santana's eyebrows raise and she looks towards Mercedes, who shrugs her way out the conversation, before clearing her throat in Valentina's direction.

"Sorry to interrupt but can I ask what the fuck is going on?" Santana directs her death glare towards Valentina, who visibly begins to cower at the sight of the Snixx, "¿ _y que coño estás haciendo aquí? ¿No y que tenias clases hoy?_ "

"Um, it's really not what it looks like. I got Sugar a last minute table at Echostage two weeks ago and she texted me again for another one tonight." Valentina lowers her gaze to her toes, a habit she developed after her first traumatic guest experience. "Also, my class got cancelled and Marley needed a last minute cover for her host shift. Sue me for needing the money."

"Fine. Do your shady bidness off of my floor. Go to the back alleyway like the rest of the degenerates of the block do. Now be gone, and take Sugar with you." Santana waves her hand dismissively before turning to the packet of information in front of her. She scans the documents, making sure everything is in order for the restaurant's first event of the fall season.

"Hey Whoopi, did you get a chance to call and confirm all this yet?" She hears Mercedes release a deep sigh and before she can even get a chance to react, a smack hits across Santana's head. "OWWWWW WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Inside and professional voices, _Juanita_. _"_ Mercedes hisses. "You know Whoopi ain't got nothing on me. I am Beyoncé and will only be addressed as that. If you'd let me finish before getting caught up with Tweedledee and Tweedledum, you'd have known that the aloha! debacle wouldn't allow me to make any calls. I was a bit busy. You'd have also known that since now you're here, and since you're working the event-I checked-that I'm leaving that responsibility to you so I can finish up my manager log." With that, Mercedes leaves Satan herself blowing in the wind.

Santana manages to pick her jaw up from the floor before she gathered the documents along with her iPhone and dragged herself towards the back alleyway of the restaurant. She swiped her cigarettes from her purse, managing to avoid slipping on the greasy kitchen floor, and flung herself out the door. Sometimes a little smoke can do wonders for her.

She manages to find the contact info for the event booker-always first name initial and the last name for privacy-a woman, she presumes over the first initial- _L. Q. Fabray_. Something about two of those letters was leaving a mental itch in the Latina's head. Dialing the familiar New York area code, anxiously waiting for an answer. Santana and phone calls, never been friendly with each other. She prefers human interaction.

"Hi this is L, may I ask who's calling?" a light, melodic tone answers through the receiver. Santana exhales a cloud of smoke, clearing her throat to the best of her ability. _Way to keep it professional_.

"Hi, This is Santana Lopez calling of behalf of El Mercado in Washington D.C. I'm calling to confirm an event booked by the New York City Ballet for tomorrow night?"

"Yes! We've been to your sister locations in the city and we absolutely love it. It really accommodates some of the-wait, Santana ? As in Satan?" her screech practically reverberating in Santana's ears. _What the fuck?_

"Um, otherwise known as to a very small handful of people. Do I know you?" A faintly familiar chuckle patches through, and Santana's jaw drops for the second time that day. "Quinn?"

"Ha, oh my god! I can't believe it! What the hell are you doing in D.C.?" Quinn asks, in an equally shocked state like her old friend.

"Jesus Christ. What a fucking throwback. I'm living here now! I've worked my way up. We should catch up when you get into town."

"Absolutely. I'm arriving tomorrow morning. I have some meetings to start finalizing the troupe's schedule but we can grab drinks afterwards?"

Santana hears some shuffling in the background and lets out a snort, "please tell me that's not the sound of that heinous pocketbook you used to keep."

"Have you finally taken my advice and started one of your own?" Quinn retorts, not missing a beat.

"Fuck off. At least mine is digital!" she almost sticks her tongue-as if she was talking to the blonde girl in person. "Are we all set for tomorrow?

"Yes. This is your personal right?"

"Si."

"Okay I'll call you when I'm done for the day and we can meet up. I can't wait to see you."

"Me too, Q. It's been too long." Santana admits. She stubs out her cigarette, long forgotten when she dropped it in shock. She says her goodbyes and hangs up the phone. _What the fuck?_ Never in her entire life did Santana think she'd be calling, let alone making plans, with one Quinn Fabray again. The last time Santana had seen her, Quinn was stumbling around the club to celebrate her graduation from NYU. That was a few days before Santana packed up her life without telling anyone.

Eventually the smell of garbage and piss become too overwhelming, causing the Latina to saunter her way back into her restaurant. She makes the same stop, grabbing her things before sliding along the kitchen floor gracefully, and passes by Blaine, her second in command.

"Hey Santana, couldn't even stay away for one day?" he asks, looking exceptionally starchy today.

"Not today, Triangle Brows. I'm headed out. Find Mercedes, get the lowdown _y por el amor de Díos,_ DO NOT CALL ME." she responds, not even slowing down her strides. She casually bumps Valentina's fist and soon enough finds her feet taking her down the familiar streets of Northwest Washington D.C.

* * *

Santana decided to take the long way to her destination; desperately trying to avoid the annoying brunch crowd that always lingered until happy hour actually started. She let her mind wander back to the streets of New York City and she couldn't help but to admire he differences between the two cities she's called home. In her head, New York was the city where all her dreams went to die and D.C. is where she rose like a phoenix from the ashes. She wondered if Vic's diner was still around. She wondered if her terrible apartment in Hell's Kitchen was still swarming with cockroaches both inside and out.

Her conversation with Quinn and memories of her time in the City clouded the rest of the Latina's mind, enough that when she looked up she found herself at the front steps of Ibiza. She heard Puck before she saw him, his voice oozing what Santana calls his "douchtender" tone. Poor girl. She looks up, spots Puck's back, and marches her way towards him. She, fails however, to notice the exceptionally stunning blonde woman sitting in front of him, laughing.

"Hey-o, Packo!" Puck looks up and his smirk stretches into a flashy smile at the sight of his roommate.

"Sup, Satan. I'm glad you were able to make it. Grab a seat next to...I'm sorry miss, what's your name?" he gestures to the feline featured female who looks like she's just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar for taking a sip of her wine.

"I'm Brittany. It's a pleasure to meet the both of you." This girl just oozes confidence and turns her amused smirk towards Santana, "I always thought Satan was a man. But then again, I'm not complaining."

Santana was too busy drowning in the ocean blue eyes that belonged to Brittany to even formulate a response. Quickly sensing that she had been addressed, she cleared her throat and plopped herself down into the bar stool next to the blonde.

"Good. Besides, I look killer in red. Much better than any Diablo can pull off in a red suit." Santana smirks at Brittany, giving herself an internal high five for seeing the faint blush spread across ivory skin. "I'm Santana and I'm apologizing on behalf of my terrible roommate here for his idiocy." She extends her towards the blonde who quickly returns the handshake. The physical contact caught Santana off guard as she reveled at the softness of Brittany's hands and the shock that came from her touch.

She lets go of her hand, grabbing for the drink that Puck had already placed on the bar before turning towards some chaos going on at the service bar. The cool minty and lime taste help calm her nerves-especially after realizing that it's now just her and Brittany at the bar.

"That looks good! What is that you're drinking?" Brittany asks, cocking her head a little bit towards her left hand. _How fucking cute._

"It's Richardson Gimlet. Super straightforward: gin, lime juice, and mint."

"It's not even 4:30 yet. Isn't it a little early to be drinking liquor?" Brittany asks, flashing Santana yet another one of those sexy smirks.

"Oh please. This is D.C. As long as the words 'happy hour' are involved, liquor has no set time restrictions." the Latina retorts, raising her brow just enough to avoid being seen like a bitch. "I take it you're not from here then?"

Before she realizes, Brittany swipes her cocktail and takes a sip of it. The blonde then lets out a low moan of satisfaction that reaches all the way in between Santana's thighs. The Latina lets out a low squeak as she tries to subtly cross her legs a little tighter while dispelling any filthy thoughts she has of Brittany. _Bad Satan, down girl._

"Nope. I'm from Amsterdam but I've been living in New York for the past few years." she slides Santana's drink effortlessly across the bar, landing it straight into Santana's still open hand. "Are you a D.C. native?"

"Your English is perfect. I never would have guessed you were Dutch." Santana finishes the rest of her gimlet in one chug, trying to provide some relief for her suddenly dry throat. A full glass is promptly presented in front her, followed by a wink from Puck himself. "And, no. I was born in Mexico but my parents moved us to the Midwest early on. I spent a couple of years before moving to D.C. in New York as well."

"I was right then." Santana quirks her eyebrows at her company, taking a sip of her cocktail. "You're from one the spiciest countries in the world. No wonder you're sizzling hot."

Santana chokes on her drink, barely stopping herself from a spit take. She feels a hand calmly rubbing her back while she catches her breath. She then makes the mistake at looking up and catching the concern look clouding Brittany's clear blue eyes.

"I'm good, I'm good." She mutters, mostly to herself. "Um, so what brings you to the nation's capital?"

Brittany lets her hand linger a little longer before retracting it towards her glass of white wine, taking a gulp of it before responding, "I'm here for work. I was actually supposed to arrive tomorrow but I think Lord Tubbington changed my ticket to today. He probably wanted me to come a day earlier to make sure I got him some souvenirs." _Who the fuck is Lord Tubbington? Why is this girl so weird? Why am I not caring?_

"Then let us propose a toast." Santana says in a posh voice, raising her glass towards Brittany, "To Lord Tubbington, for playing a hand and ensuring your safe arrival in the capital."

Brittany unleashes a round of giggles, causing Santana's heart to double in size, before clinking her glass with Santana's and mimicking her posh voice, "to Lord Tubbington!" While taking sips of their respective drinks, both women catch the other staring. Both sporting looks filled with humor and desire.

 _Lord have mercy on my soul_.

* * *

Hours later, Brittany and Santana are standing like a pair of giggling fools outside of Santana and Puck's apartment. After the second failed attempt at getting her keys through the door knob, Santana looks up at Brittany and shushes her. The blonde's wandering hands proving to be too distracting. Third time's the charm as the Latina opens the door and drags Brittany against the back of the door.

"Now, where were we?" Santana practically purrs as her tongue makes its way up alongside the elegant column known as Brittany's neck. Brittany turns her head and captures Santana into a searing kiss that she's sure even her great grand babies will know about.

"Bed. Now."

She grabs Brittany's hand, automatically leading her towards her bedroom. _Thank God I cleaned today._ She throws Brittany on the bed before spotting a curious cat peeking out from underneath her bed. She leans down, feeling Brittany's eyes watching her like a hawk, grabbing her precious companion. Brittany's eyes light up at the sight of lil' Pookie but Santana distracts her with another searing kiss. Moments later, Arya is running off into the living room followed by the muttered apologies of her owner.

Arya launches herself onto her favorite spot in the small living room table, making herself comfortable for a long night out in the dog house. The little tabby can't help but roll her eyes at the sounds of breathy giggles coming from behind her mistress's door.

 _It's about damn time._

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts? I don't have any set plans for an updating schedule, school & work tend to take up a lot of my free time. I'm definitely aiming for at least once a month, until the end of exams. Until the next time.**

 _Hola, hija. Me tienes abandonado_! **\- Hi daughter. You've abandoned me!**

 _Hola, pa. Lo siento, e tenido una semana ridícula_. - **Hi dad. I'm sorry, i've had a ridiculous week.**

 _Lo sé, ese trabajo tuyo es un otro tipo de animal. Te trabajan muy duro._ **I know, that job of yours is a different kind of animal. They work you too hard.**

¿ _y que coño estás haciendo aquí? ¿No y que tenias clases hoy?_ **\- And what the fuck are you doing here? Didn't you have class today?**

 _y por el amor de Díos_ - **And for the love of God**


End file.
